“That’s right, take all of me, Wren. You squeeze my cock so tight. Nothing has ever felt as good as your pussy wrapped around me. You’re mine. Say you’re mine.”
My eyes never left his face. For once in my life, I truly felt as though I belonged to someone. “Yours, I said. Forever yours.”
He reached down and stroked my clit as he pounded into me and I came completely undone; the orgasm taking me by surprise. He followed with a shout and groan filling me completely.
He rolled off, then scooped me into his arms, cradling me against his chest.
“Still feel dirty?” he asked, voice gentler than I’d ever heard.
I shook my head. “No.”
He kissed the top of my head, then tucked me under his arm. “Good. Because you’re mine. And I take care of what’s mine.”
We didn’t talk about tomorrow, or the war, or Silas. For now, there was only the bed, and the warmth, and the way his heart beat steady under my cheek.
I let myself drift, knowing that when morning came, it would all start again.
But for now, I was clean.
And I was loved.
Chapter 15
Wrecker
Iwatched her sleep.
The bruising on her throat had bloomed, blood pooling beneath the skin in a ring where Silas’s grip had closed. She lay on her back, face slack with exhaustion, hair splayed brunette and pink against the pillow. I’d washed her clean, but violence never comes out in the laundry. It stains, seeps, soaks into the marrow. My wolf paced beneath the surface, restless, jaws clicking, hackles up every time she exhaled a dry little whimper.
I didn’t sleep. I never slept when there was a job unfinished, and Silas Drake wasn’t just unfinished—he was half-cooked, rotting, maggot-bait in a suit. I kept my hand on Parker’s thigh, anchoring us both, thumb tracing up and down the soft curve of muscle. If I let go, she’d drift off somewhere I couldn’t reach. If I held too tight, I’d shatter what was left of her calm.
The clock on the dresser ticked over 2:22 a.m. I slid out from beneath the covers, careful not to wake her. She stirred, eyelids fluttering like wings in the dark, but didn’t break the surface. The room was chilly, still reeking faintly of bath soap and sex, and the coppery tang of her panic from earlier. I dressed in silence, pulling on sweats and a T-shirt. I paused at the mirror. Stared. The scaron my chin was white as a rope, my jaw bristling with three days’ stubble. I looked feral. I looked perfect for the task at hand.
I shut the door behind me. Rocket, the ugly little dog, lay curled in a death spiral on his bed. He twitched one ear, then went back to his dreams.
Down the hall, I passed the den. The monitors were all dark. Power cycled to cut the heat signature. The house was silent, the only sound the low hum of the fridge and the haunted creak of old boards. In my office, I flicked on a desk lamp and sat in the chair, elbows on knees. I picked up the burner cell, thumbed Bronc’s number, and let it ring.
He picked up on the second buzz. “You up?”
I could hear the background noise—low voices, the clink of glasses, maybe the TV at Pearl’s bar. “Always,” he said. “Status?”
“She did it. All the devices are in. Trojan’s running. Silas bought the whole show, but he put hands on her.”
A long, hollow pause. “Is she—?”
“She’s alive,” I said. “But he meant it as a warning. Said he’s not done with her. Won’t be until he says so.”
Another voice cut in, faint but sharp. “Is that Eli?” Juliet. Bronc’s mate. I heard a rustle, then the sound went on speaker.
“Yeah. I figured you’d be there,” I said.
She didn’t bother with preamble. “How bad was it?”
I told her, flat and spare: bruises, nothing broken. Fear, but no fractures in her pride. The things you learn to look for after enough years seeing what men do to each other and to the women they think they own.
Juliet swore, voice all steel. “That girl deserves better. You know it.”
I didn’t answer. I ran my finger along the edge of the desk, catching the sharp burr where the finish had chipped. The silence stretched, cold and suffocating.
